Lemuria by Burt Clinchandhill (epub e ink reader TXT) 📕

seconds, and I’ll be fine.” He took another deep breath. “As a young boy, I got used to getting electrified. My father was an electrician. He was always working on all kinds of devices. I followed in his footsteps, making mistakes and getting electrified every other day. My arm will be numb for the rest of the day, but otherwise, I’ll be fine. Did it work?”

“Did it work?” Bishop asked.

“Push the door,” De Cremonese ordered.

Bishop pushed the door, and it softly swung open. “How did you...?” Bishop mumbled, looking into the office.

De Cremonese gave a wide smile. “Asimov’s laws.”

“What?”

“Asimov’s Three Laws. Never heard of it?”

“No, but I know of the writer.”

“Same one. Isaac Asimov, the twentieth-century American biochemistry professor and science fiction writer, developed the three laws of robotics. One: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Two: A robot must obey the orders given by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the first law. Three: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second laws. I figured Mulder probably would have incorporated the three laws into his AI. I read somewhere he’s a big sci-fi fan.”

“So? I still don’t understand.”

“My theory was Lean wouldn’t—or couldn’t—let me get hurt because of the laws. She would cut the power. The local fire safety laws and regulations did the rest. They demand that when the power cuts off to a building or part of it, all electronic door locks must be opened automatically, preventing people from getting trapped.”

“That’s amazing. I mean, you, knowing the local safety regulations requiring that.”

“I know they do in Rome.” De Cremonese gave a tiny smile.

Bishop shook his head. “And what if he didn’t use Asimov’s laws?”

“What can I say? Have a little faith. Shall we have a look inside?”

“Let’s do that.” Bishop quickly replaced his shoelace and took De Cremonese’s arm and helped him off the ground.

“It’s smaller than I would have thought,” Bishop said as they walked in.

The office couldn’t have been more than four hundred square feet. From the desk on the right side, Mulder could watch the door to his left, and he had a great view through the window on the right of the eye’s gardens and park. The desk itself was stacked two feet high with piles of paper flanking a computer screen. Opposite the desk hung an antique sixteenth-century Frisian grandfather clock. Next to the window, four comfortable brown leather seats surrounded a glass table. Except for those pieces of furniture and the clock on the wall, the office was empty.

“Totally not what I expected,” De Cremonese said, glancing around.

“But that’s quite a view,” Bishop replied, looking at the view of the park.

“Personally, my office would preferably be on the other side of the building, overlooking the forest,” De Cremonese replied.

“Maybe you’re right. I guess I was comparing it to my Yale office’s view of the next building’s red bricks.”

“When you look at it that way, I guess I have two office views. The one from my Italy office overlooks Lago Albano, an old gigantic volcanic crater, and the other one in Arizona overlooks Mount Graham’s grandeur.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous, Father?”

De Cremonese smiled. “So, what are we looking for?”

“That’s a good question,” Bishop answered. “Anything about Jennifer, the lost tribes or Amie, for that matter. Anything that stands out.” Bishop switched on the computer on the desk.

Lean appeared on the screen. “Please put your hand on the screen or say the passphrase,” she said.

“I guess you have no idea how to hack your way into this one?” Bishop mocked.

De Cremonese sighed, shook his head and switched the computer off. “I’ve seen enough of her for today.”

“That I understand. Well, then there are not many places to look.” He pointed to the two stacks of paper. “If you take this one”—he pointed to the left pile—“I’ll take the other.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will walk in?”

“Of course I am,” Bishop answered. “But I’m also confident we can deal with it when it happens. Besides that, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“They can throw us out. Maybe even have us arrested.”

“Exactly.” Bishop started sifting through the papers.

Sheet by sheet, they went through the stack of paper, glancing at copies of order sheets, personnel records, handwritten letters from Mulder’s mother, advertisements, warranty papers and even tax documents.

“Here’s something.” Bishop held up a piece of paper. “A list of tribes. Looks very similar to the one the government officials I told you about showed me.”

“Anything else on it?” De Cremonese asked.

“No, just the list.”

“I thought we were living in the paperless age.” De Cremonese waved a stack of paper into the air.

“Don’t believe it, Father. I read somewhere that small and medium companies are the slowest to digitize and still produce one point six trillion pieces of paper a year.”

De Cremonese grinned. “It’s up to the youth and their smartphones now to fulfill that prophecy, I guess.” He glanced at a small stapled stack of papers and quickly put it away again. “You know that in our time....” As he picked up the next piece, he lingered.

“What is it?” Bishop asked.

“I’m not sure. It looks like a weekly menu order list: breakfast, lunch and dinner. There’s even a fruit list. You know? Like the ones in a hospital where you can choose your meals for the coming week.”

“What about it?” Bishop walked to De Cremonese.

“Look.” De Cremonese pointed to the letterhead. “It’s from the Logynous Eye Restaurant. And it dates back from six weeks or so up until this week.”

“So?” Bishop said.

“You see, there, outside”—De Cremonese pointed to the large black dot in the center of the circle—“That’s the Logynous Eye Restaurant. I read somewhere they serve the employees’ meals, snacks and smoothies. But the headquarters is not a campus. It has no people living here. So, who would be served dinner every day?”

“I see where you’re